


Partners

by felinefelicitations



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Brotherhood, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Consensual Possession, Family Feels, Masturbation, Other, Porn With the Thinnest Veneer of Plot, Possession, Pre-Canon, Prosthetics, Riding, a-spec!charon, background thanares, big brother charon, but not that kind just read the fic it's weird, but still, godfic, i love how i can't find any of these tags :'), it's me how could it not, language as a gift, sign language charon, spirit riding, this whole family just sort of a bunch of mashed together parts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:40:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29344497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felinefelicitations/pseuds/felinefelicitations
Summary: Hermes, being Maia’s kid, does a fair shake better in the Underworld than any other Olympian Charon’s ever had the misfortune of needing to work with. He also, being Maia’s kid, understands the rules down here are older and much, much less forgiving than the one’s up top.Which is why Hermes pays Asterius’ fare.It’s a little thing, but it sticks with Charon. Olympians aren’t very generous usually. Don’t seem to really get what it means.
Relationships: Charon/Hermes (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 40
Kudos: 196





	Partners

**Author's Note:**

> here you go it's my charon/hermes it's weird just like me 
> 
> self indulgent meandering enjoy <3
> 
> ALSO quick eta, but the thanatos bone hand thing was very very much inspired by nic on twitter [here is the tweet](https://twitter.com/artvinsky/status/1325442382746148864) i'm fucking obsessed catch me using this again

It’s a funny thing, being a god. There’s the self, what one _is_ , but there's the self mortals project as well. There’s a tug, always, between the two. They get more wrong than they get right, and more right than they get wrong, too.

Charon knows words have power, got a way of influencing how a person views themselves. Look at Ares, wolf turned noble--wouldn’t have decided to be the politest beast this side of the Styx if not for all those words his family threw around. Blood, but Charon wishes he’d not gone so polite; got Thanatos all kinds of flustered lately.

“ _Charon_ ,” Hypnos complains, “that weirdo is back again.”

Charon doesn’t ask who; there’s only one weirdo in Hypnos’ books, a new Olympian, or rather, new as Charon measures things. Maia’s son, quick thing. Hermes. Charon likes Maia well enough, and her son's not bad, either. They've worked together a while now. Not a _long_ while, but very, very few things are left around that could even claim to exist a long while.

 _Shouldn't call people weird_ , Charon signs. _Hermes is all right._

“I’m only being honest,” Hypnos says, then vanishes in a bit of white mist.

Charon gets his oar, starts to row for the temple. Doesn’t do to leave Hermes waiting too long; no telling what he’ll really get up to. Charon’s heard about hands that don’t quite know how to keep themselves, but he’s also heard Apollo went and made him some sort of go-between with the mortals despite that. Just like Apollo, really. Charon’s heard a lot of stories about Hermes, really, and doesn’t much know which ones are true.

Charon doesn’t put much stock in stories anyway; at the end of the day, words are for the living and Charon is not live at all.

**

Hermes, being Maia’s kid, does a fair shake better than any other Olympian Charon’s ever had the misfortune of needing to work with. He also, being Maia’s kid, understands the rules down here are older and much, much less forgiving than the one’s up top.

Which is why Hermes pays Asterius’ fare.

It’s a little thing, but it sticks with Charon. Olympians aren’t very generous usually. Don’t seem to really get what it means.

It doesn’t change Asterius is still bound for Tartarus, trading one maze for another, but it’s still a far sight better than Erebus. Only people who like Erebus are Thanatos and Hypnos, and Charon’s pretty sure that’s just them recognizing their father Nyx never told them about.

Technically, Nyx is Charon’s mother, too, but Charon isn’t much younger than the universe; feels a bit awkward to call her mother after all this time what with being closer to her age than anyone else's, and that attachment is pretty faded if it was ever there.

Not that either of the twins pay attention to that fact, or seem to care.

“Do you think I should take him up on it?” Thanatos asks. Thanatos has asked at least half a dozen times the last hour if he should take Ares up on his offer of sword fighting lessons. His hair drifts a mess, giving away that he’s just as tangled up about it. Charon grunts, which Thanatos nods at before he goes silent, left hand playing with the join of his gauntlet and curled up at the bow of the boat, trying not to take too much space though it doesn’t much matter.

There’s always room on the boat.

What Charon really thinks is he’s not really the right person to be asking, but he’s long since learned that if he says _that_ both Thanatos and Hypnos just look baffled, point out he’s their older brother, he knows everything.

Charon doesn’t, though he supposes being around so long and them so young, it might look that way.

 _I think you should do what you want_ , Charon finally signs.

“You’re probably right,” Thanatos says, then sighs. “But I don’t really know what I want.”

Charon snorts at that, because the last hour and change it’s very, very obvious what he wants. Thanatos can be a bit dense, particularly about his own feelings. He’ll work it out eventually. Always does.

“Do _you_ think Ares is all right?” Thanatos asks.

Charon shrugs. He thinks he’d like if Thanatos would just act on his crush; it’s clear Ares likes him, and Ares has always been polite in his dealings with them that predate Olympus, that came from the dark, though technically Thanatos and Hypnos were born after all that.

 _Hermes thinks he is_ , Charon signs.

Thanatos nods and that, it seems, is that. Not long after, Thanatos starts learning how to actually fight from Ares, Hypnos complains that Thanatos’ dreams are awful to avoid, and things go back to as normal as they ever do down here.

Charon does wonder a bit, that Thanatos seems to think Hermes trusting Ares is such a ringing endorsement, but it’s not much worth contemplating. Hermes is all right; could be worse people for Thanatos to trust the judgement of.

**

Him and Hermes have bets; Hermes loses most of them, doesn’t seem to mind. Charon can’t say he’s too surprised; what he knows from working with Hermes, Maia’s son is always chasing little thrills, greedy for the kind of gold Charon can’t collect but likes more.

(The kind that’s Hypnos slowly spilling out a story or Thanatos dozing against Charon’s shoulder; the kind that’s resting on the shore, twins' feet kicking in the Lethe, sharing nectar with two brothers so young they don’t even remember when Gaia came around. The kind of gold generosity is made of.)

“I bet,” Hermes says one day, “I could beat Cerberus in a fight.”

Charon thinks about that. Hermes might. He doesn’t much see why Hermes would want to fight the hound, but Hermes is very, very live, and the living do a lot of things that don’t make much sense to Charon. Especially Hermes.

Charon doesn’t say anything; Thanatos and Hypnos are the only ones he speaks to, probably only ones he can--most souls don’t know how to sign with their hands. He’s all right with that, really; he doesn’t need words with Hermes most the time.

What he does do is put a bottle of ambrosia down that Hermes can’t.

Hermes wins, though it’s not much a fight since Cerberus is a pushover for cake. Cerberus is, in fact, not actually all that great a guard dog--he’s always been easy to bribe, if a person knows what to bribe him with.

Charon still lets Hermes keep the ambrosia, anyway.

**

They’re not much of anything, him and Hermes, just gods who work together. _Professional associates_ , Hermes likes to say, grinning cheeky like it’s some clever joke. Maybe it is; Charon doesn’t gamble with or smuggle counterfeit for most gods, and he certainly doesn’t look forward to seeing any other Olympians.

Except Ares, the once.

Ares shows up Thanatos in his arms, Hermes leading the way with a soul that Charon’s looking forward to seeing judged a way he doesn’t usually. Most souls are just souls; Sisyphus isn’t.

Charon’s not much but the parts he needs for a boat, but luckily for him that includes arms, hands, a repurposed skull. Enough to look vaguely like all those gods that came later and their forms.

Thanatos doesn’t wake when Ares hands him over, still too drained from chains fit to kill gods that got any life to them. His gauntlet got lost somewhere, bones of his right hand visible but, fortunately, not chipped or damaged. The gauntlet’ll be a bother to replace, if it comes to that.

(Charon would rather it lost than his brother; Thanatos isn’t something he can replace.)

“My apologies for not locating him sooner,” Ares says, politeness pulled thin over fury.

Charon nods acknowledgement, hands too full for proper thanks, but he sends gifts back with Hermes, later.

Right then, though, he sets Thanatos at the bow of the boat, where he’s always liked to curl up since he was a tiny little thing, drops a blanket around him and smooths his hair that’s lost all its drift.

Hermes is still waiting when he rides again, Sisyphus in tow.

“You know,” Hermes says, light as he rocks on his feet, heel to toe, wings at his ankles flicking, “I could probably handle some of the ferrying side of things. If you’d wanted a vacation for some reason. Boats aren’t _that_ hard, my ma, she’s taught a bit here and there.”

It’s a generous offer; Olympians aren’t much given to generosity.

(But Charon’s heard the story, from Hermes’ mouth with enough anger to be true, about the time Ares got captured. Hermes loves his brothers, too.

And there was Orpheus. Asterius.

Hermes is a bit of an odd one, sometimes. More Maia’s son, that oceanid all the darkest parts of the sea out of sight who knows what generosity means.)

 _I’ll think about it_ , Charon signs, an easy thing. He’s not much expecting Hermes to understand, but Hermes blinks before his smile goes true.

“Huh,” Hermes says, “took you long enough.”

Charon doesn’t bother answering, just sets off for the house and leaves Hermes to finish that journey to Erebus on his own.

**

They’re not live things, his brothers, not dead neither; they’re like stars, somewhere in between. Nyx even set them in the sky somewhere, though Charon’s never gone to look himself. Doesn’t need to; Hermes told him.

It just means it takes longer for Thanatos to recover, needs Hypnos to help. He sleeps long stretches, pressed into Hypnos’ side, bones of his right hand bright on fabric--Hypnos’ robes, or Charon’s.

Charon watches his brothers sleep, dreams tangled up like they did when they were smaller. Watches starlight shift, but as much as they smear together, it’s not like when they were kids, either--too many words about them out in the world. Thanatos’ hair won’t ever really drift again, and it won’t glow that same white, either, even after Hypnos manages to pull him back.

(Hermes finds Thanatos’ gauntlet and his scythe both. Charon’s not sure he’ll be able to repay him for either.)

**

“Where’d he even get these?” Hermes asks when he returns them. “They match and everything.”

Charon’s not much for words, but Hermes apparently knows the kind Charon will use and if all he wants in payment is to know where they’re from…

It’ll set something in stone, putting it to words, but Charon doesn’t mind too much for this.

 _I made them for him. Was having trouble one handed_ , Charon signs.

(A bit of his own soul; he’s been around long enough, and he doesn’t much have use for all of it. Just needs enough for his boat, really, and he’s much, much more than that still.)

Hermes tilts his head a bit, then his more normal cocksure grin split his face.

“Older brothers are something else,” he says. “Just giving away pieces of themselves.”

Charon shrugs.

 _Taught me how to talk_ , Charon tells him. _Wasn’t that much, really._

Hermes hums like he doesn’t believe Charon, but he lets the subject drop and, not long after, Charon goes back to his boat. He’s lingered long enough; Thanatos is awake more than he’s not, even if he’s still shaken up.

**

What he doesn’t tell Hermes, what Hermes likely already knows, is that they did a lot more than just teach Charon how to talk. Shared a lot more with him, too. Charon’s just as greedy for Hermes’ kind of gold as Hermes at the end of the day, the kind that’s live, the kind that can’t be kept except in the hollows of a chest.

Just hides it better.

**

They settle back into their routine, him and Hermes--wagers Hermes mostly loses, Hermes sharing stories that Charon listens to and mostly doesn’t forget, goods smuggled in because nothing makes ambrosia better than trading hands and the weight of all the dead to age it and Dionysus pays a pretty sum for that kind of thing.

 _Professional associates_ , Hermes likes to say, and Charon’s pretty sure it’s not so different from the way Charon says Hermes is _all right_.

Charon’s not sure what to do with _that_ though. The living are never more confusing than when they care, and there’s a difference in how Charon says _all right_ and Hermes says _professional associates_.

Charon’s not a live thing, and he’s not all that sure he could manage anything close. He’s never been live--he’s just an old, old soul who likes to ride and ferries souls because it lets him do what he likes.

**

“You _know_ ,” Hypnos says one day, “Hermes likes you.”

Charon grunts.

“No, he _like likes_ you.”

Charon looks down at Hypnos, floating just above the floor of the boat though it’s been centuries since that technicality mattered.

“Come _on_ , you don’t know? It’s obvious.”

Charon grunts again, lilts it up.

“He gave us how to sign so we could teach you,” Hypnos says. “He heard about our bet with Eris and he said we’d still be able to win, we just had to show you how to do it.”

Charon remembers that. Both his brothers had grabbed onto his robes, half pulled him down begging him to help them win that stupid bet. He still doesn’t remember why he agreed, except it felt—

He liked their laughter, really. The way they propped each other up, Hypnos always that extra pair of hands for Thanatos when he needed more than one, Thanatos always an extra set of eyes when Hypnos’ own are too tired to focus; the way they assumed they just had to give Charon a way to talk that would fit and he’d fit right in with them.

(Assumed he even had any words to say when he’d never given them anything to suggest as much. It does something, knowing Hermes fashioned all those signs; a generous thing, when Olympians aren’t much given to generosity.)

“Do I have to notice everything around here?” Hypnos asks, then yawns. “I bet it’s because I’m the cutest.”

Charon grunts agreements instead of point out it's because of the three of them, Hypnos is the closest to living. Or that Charon already knew, mostly, but he doesn’t know what to do with that knowledge, not really.

He supposes what he’s going to have to do is talk to Hermes and sort things out. Probably should have a lot sooner, really, but Charon’s never much needed to be quick and Hermes clearly hasn’t minded waiting.

**

Hermes, being living, is dense, too, but in a different way, in the not able to actually understand what Charon’s trying to say way when Charon tries to tell Hermes he’s not ever gonna get anything Hermes might expect from a live lover, any of those born of Gaia. Assuming that’s what Hermes wants.

“I don’t see what all that has to do with anything,” Hermes says, rocking back on his heels. “You look live enough to me.” He grins, cheeky. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want if you’re worried, it’s fine.”

Charon understands why Thanatos likes to roll his eyes so much.

 _No_ , Charon says and then decides it might be easier just to show him.

He draws in a breath, _exhales_.

Hermes says something, but if Charon has little use for words, he’s got even less ability for them like this. It’s just impressions, this bodiless way, this way older than the Gaia and most anything but Nyx and Chaos, and he slips blind and feels his way and twines around that sunlight glimmer that’s all Hermes. Laughter, then a hand slipping through soul, so much live heat that Charon pulls back and away.

Hermes says something, probably an apology, because the hand moves away.

It takes a little doing, figuring out where the skull is, those bits of himself he’s put together to look a little live, like everyone who came after Gaia chained souls to bodies; inhales.

Shapes matter, do a lot to change how perception works, and as he blinks and refocuses, Hermes is looking at him, still half surprise and all wonder.

“That,” Hermes says, “explains a lot.”

Charon chuckles.

(If Thanatos and Hypnos are stars, Charon’s all that empty space between. Someone had to be.)

“We’ll figure it out, _associate_ ,” Hermes says, winks.

Hermes is all right.

**

“I’ve got an idea,” Hermes says, months later. “If you wanna give it a try, because I was _thinking_ , I’m betting you don’t actually have _any_ idea what it’s like, the other side of the coin.”

Charon grunts acknowledgement, because that’s a fair assessment.

(It’s been nice; Hermes is given to casual touch quite a lot, and Charon doesn’t mind that even if it’s not so much what he thinks the living want.)

“Why don’t you come for a ride?” Hermes asks, black eyes sparkling.

It takes Charon a minute, maybe two, to catch onto what he’s suggesting. He hums, turns it over.

Hermes is all right.

(Hermes found those parts of himself Charon gave to Thanatos; finds a hundred ways to make Hypnos laugh and call him _weird_ ; pressed words into their hands so Charon might be able to talk. Hermes is a lot more than all right. _Associates_. Tsch.)

 _Sure_ , Charon signs.

“Let’s see,” Hermes says, places both hands on the sides of Charon’s face, leans in.

(More like partners.)

Charon opens his mouth, lets Hermes lean in and take, explore, exhales--

_light, heat, pulse, chest warm, glowing, surprise--_

then snaps back again, Hermes laughing, coughing trails of purple.

“Okay, not quite,” Hermes manages.

Charon chuckles, a quiet thing, breathless thing, and runs his hands over Hermes’ sides.

“Wasn’t expecting it,” Hermes says, leaning in again. “Let’s try that again. Say, do I get to wear your hat if this works?”

Charon can’t shake his head too well with Hermes’ framing his face, grunts disapproval instead.

“I can’t believe you’re going to let me carry your soul around and you _still_ won’t let me wear your hat,” Hermes murmurs. “It’s unfair. Okay, okay, come here, let's show you a good time, what living’s all about—”

Charon leans in, this time, opens his eyes to make sure Hermes is ready, _exhales_ —

falls in properly this time, all sunlight warmth, pulse loud, everything _loud_ , a rush, not quite river and not quite sky, but somewhere in between. Feel all those things he doesn’t, can’t, and shivers with it, all of it too much

_< gotcha, easy>_

Breathing. That’s. That’s odd. It takes a while just to figure that out, get used to seeing out of different eyes. All this _noise_. Sensation a lot sharper. Smells, tastes.

Hermes laughs, gets up, Charon still riding in his head, peers in the reflection of the Styx, black of his eyes swirling with Charon’s purple, then winks.

< _awful_ ,> Charon tells him, coiling warm. Flush. All this _heat_. No wonder the living are so stupid; he can’t think through anything. Skin, fabric over flesh. Does everyone always notice fabric on flesh? Muscles tensing, cool air, damp--is _that_ what Hypnos is always complaining about, reason he’s got that ridiculous cloak?

“Probably,” Hermes says aloud; it echoes weird, feels weird. Curl of tongue and lips, that's a new one. Runs his tongue over his teeth, bites his lip, pushes his hair back still looking in his reflection, and it’s like catching on fire and freezing at the same time, heat pooling in his belly, twisting tight in his spine. Hermes laughs, breathless, hums and Charon almost, _almost_ regrets this.

(Doesn’t even a little.)

All Hermes’s thoughts clamouring, all that _pleasure_ twisting in his gut, all that joy so brilliant in his chest, all that _hunger_. Is that what that sharp want is?

“Yeah,” Hermes says. “Let’s go for a ride.”

He starts to go, hand reaches out for Charon’s hat; Charon can’t really control much, not without a whole lot of effort, but he can stop a hand.

“ _Really_?” Hermes laughs. “You’d be wearing it. You’d be _half_ wearing it,” but he stops reaching; Charon stops trying, goes back to just riding.

 _< ridiculous>_, Hermes’ thoughts all echo, all that fondness spilling up and around Charon; Charon swims through it, returns that fondness with more affection, lets his emotions bleed because Hermes is all right, more than all right, feels Hermes’ heart notice, respond, answers _that_ in turn—

“You keep a lot bottled up,” Hermes says, voice shakey even to his own ears, bordering on wrecked; Charon chuckles, settles down.

(Not sorry even a little. It’s not talking Charon does.)

They get out of the Underworld, somehow; Charon keeps noticing new things: thighs rubbing together, the flex of muscle, the weight of foot landing each step, all this delicious physicality he’s never _known_ about. Heat, that delicious sharp chill that rises on skin when Hermes’ steps to the surface that sends a shiver down his spine. Noticing breath going ragged, mouth a little dry, low heat in his belly, and Hermes stops by the Styx running clear, still breathing--that ragged breath, that almost hurts, that dries, how’s he remember to keep breathing?--hands curled into fists and eyes closing, which only makes the rest of everything feel _more_.

“Fuck,” Hermes whispers with feeling, thoughts scattered.

It’s effort, a lot of effort, but then suddenly all that sensation dims, pressed down to just heat. Opens his eyes again; Charon takes up so much color that it feels like he’s going blind.

“You gotta. Just hang tight, let me get somewhere-- _fuck_ , you really had _no idea_ ,” and then they _move_ and oh—

Oh that feels _good_.

Hermes laughs, a bit high, a lot broken, stumbles, catches himself, keeps running, and Charon laughs delight, all that fluidity, all that _speed_ , all that _everything_ flashing by quick as thought before Hermes stumbles again, they’re at some feast or another, all that _noise_ washing through, but more, that hum of bodies against skin, and there’s Dionysus--must be—

“It is.”

\--big and grinning wide.

“Hermes! What brings you up here?”

“Need somewhere to be,” Hermes says; that must mean something, because it makes Dionysus laugh, rich, oh, that’s such a vibrato, Charon didn’t know bones could feel like this—

 _< please_> Hermes’ thoughts hiss, try to press back against all that sensation Charon keeps wanting to claw for, against flaring heat that makes all _kinds_ of chain reactions go off Charon didn't know about.

Dionysus grins, grabs Hermes in a hug; he smells _mouth-watering_ , Hermes’ licks his lips, slides a hand along one of Dionysus’ arms--warm, solid, thick, Charon wants to keep touching-- _no_ \--Hermes lets go, steps back; Dionysus’ hand slips to his lower back, pressing broad and hot. Hermes manages to catch the laugh that time, only just, how does he live with like this, blood pooling in his groin and cock starting to hard, _that's_ interesting, Charon’s going to go half mad; Hermes flexes his hands, jittery, bouncing on his feet, and oh, that’s nice too, movement.

It’s like rapids, Hermes’ moving, and Charon does so love riding through rapids.

It’s loud, dark, plenty of low light, plenty of bodies, all that heat they keep rubbing against, sliding through, so many smells that he can nearly taste, Dionysus’ hand an anchor but not much of one, thumb stroking over through cloth on sensitive skin, another shiver; Hermes grits his teeth, still ends up whining, presses a hand against his cock and Charon shuts down a heartbeat, two, comes back to Dionysus’ low chuckle sliding across his nerves wanting Hermes to do that again, he's never known anything to be _blinding_ before.

The edge of Dionysus’ pinky is resting just below Hermes’ belt, Charon likes that, then they’re through the crowd, Dionysus pushing Hermes forward as Hermes stumbles again, into a room, lights still low, still night out--low couch, smell of incense maybe, shock of cooler air again without the press of bodies.

“Been a while, huh?” Dionysus asks, pleasant, blood and darkness, his voice sounds nice. Charon wants to touch, he feels nice; Hermes’ hands twitch, then Hermes stills them, shifts on his feet, manages to stumble and fall onto a couch. Yanks off his scarf, distracts Charon with more cool on too hot skin, sweat dripping down the back of his neck, and takes the glass of wine that Dionysus offers into his hands gratefully.

Charon doesn’t think he’s ever been _drunk_ before, but he’s pretty sure that’s what he is now.

“Bit,” Hermes manages, then drinks, stops and rolls his eyes, lets Charon smell, feel out all the flavours on his tongue. He’s never really tasted _wine_ , food; this is red-- _sweet_ \--got some fruity-- _strawberry_ \--flavour, he likes it, drinks more, licks it off his lips. Charon’s a _menace_ , but Charon doesn’t see what’s so bad about that.

Not Charon’s fault he’s not live, that the dead don’t feel like this. No wonder the living are so scared of dying; dead things sure are more subtle.

“You need anything else?” Dionysus asks.

A touch, possibly a lot more, his lower back still tingles where Dionysus’ palm was pressed, where his thumb was stroking by spine.

“No,” Hermes chokes out.

Dionysus laughs, rich and warm, Charon _really_ thinks he should rethink that no, but Charon doesn’t get a say; does get more wine though. He likes it, licks his lips again, pulse high and hot, likes how it feels sliding down his throat, they could have tasted Dionysus, why _didn’t_ they, actually—

Hermes groans, falls back on the couch as the door shuts behind Dionysus, wine still in one hand; click of lock, then Hermes is sliding his hand down his stomach, shoving his chiton up out of the way, that feels--all that skin, muscle, all that cool air sharp, hand wrapping around his cock, thumb pressing against the leaking head and _oh_ , all that tension coiling tight in his spine turns _hot_ and Charon loses any semblance of thought he had left.

Hermes laughs, very high, very broken, tears stinging his eyes. Rubs his thumb through slick, Charon wants to taste, does, then drinks more wine to wash the flavour down because _Hermes_ doesn’t like that taste so much.

Charon wonders, very distantly, if this is what they mean about being flayed alive. How do the living get anything done, feeling like this.

(Greedily, wants more, so much more, no wonder Hermes likes all that gold that can’t be bought.)

“Wait,” Hermes says, stops, fumbles for a bottle on the table.

Charon thinks, if he were the one talking, he’d huff. Maybe whine. It’s not _his_ fault Hermes feels so much.

“It _is_ ,” Hermes says, grabs the oil, fine, yes, oil does--oh, oil is _cold_ , a shock that jolts straight through all of him. “Now just shut up and _ride_.”

< _I’m **trying**_ ,> Charon points out, irritable. < _ **Someone**_ _keeps--_

Then Hermes is slicking lube down his cock, a twist, palm rough and skin sensitive, arousal sharp, and Charon stops thinking, just wants to touch, taste, _feel_.

Hermes groans, slows down; tension tightening in his spine, tilts his hips. Bites his lip, a sharp sting, panting hard and hot through his nose in time to each pump of his hand, pulse loud and pounding. Sweat slicking skin, trailing along his face, hot line down his jaw; Hermes closes his eyes and all that skin feeling crashes even louder, speeds up, tiny grunts and bit back groans as heat builds, builds, cup of wine slipping to the floor and now free hand digging into the couch, so much white heat, darkness, Charon loves him, loves this, it feels so _good_

blindingly good, white hot good, overwhelming, free fall and drowning _both_.

“Fuck,” Hermes says, opening his eyes to stare at the ceiling, hand covered in come. He licks; Charon tastes greedy and still shuddering both, still lost in the tail end of that white hot haze.

“Give me. Five,” Hermes says, breathing shallow. “Then we’ll see what else is in here.”

Charon doesn’t much want to wait.

“Greedy,” Hermes says, echoes so much fond, so much love, in his laugh, his chest, his head, and Charon clings to it, too, because he is very greedy and always, always has been.

**

Hermes stumbles back to Charon’s horde, very drunk and very sore, shattered, not entirely sure how he’s on his feet; there’s no light here, oh thank all the stars there’s no light here, everything feels too much and every nerve has very, very much been checked and found _very_ wanting—

< _dramatic_ >

\--and he manages a hoarse chuckle.

Climbs onto Charon’s lap--that vessel, Charon’s not a live thing, not even a _little_ , hells, Charon’s been in his head too long, he _sounds_ like him. Sits for a second, tries to pull himself together, mostly just.

Sits.

(Wants to linger another minute, two. It feels so… everything. Hermes doesn’t think he’s ever felt living this much before, but then it’s been all he’s known.)

He sighs, then pulls in a deep breath, leans forward, breathes _out_ \--

It feels weird and he coughs once, a last bit of deep purple soul slipping out and back home.

Charon’s eyes take on their flash again, then he’s blinking at Hermes.

“Nice ride?” Hermes asks.

(Everything’s gone dull, and it’ll be all right, just needs to sleep, but right now it’s like he can’t feel anything anymore.

Everything just background noise again, just Hermes again, no more ancient soul riding in his head that’s experiencing it all for the first time.

Deliriously, he still can’t believe Charon agreed to let Hermes show him what living’s like; that he got all that experience, too, with him.

Here was just planning to maybe go to a _beach_.)

Charon nods.

Hermes lays his head on Charon’s shoulder, closes his eyes. He’s sweaty and did a horrible job cleaning himself up, head still spinning drunk; he wants a bath or to wipe off again, but mostly he’s just tired. Deliciously, bone-deep tired. Can’t remember ever being this burnt out, burnt through, this hollow and hallow both.

“Minute,” Hermes mumbles.

Stirs at one point, skin the pleasant soft only a bath really gives, wrapped in blankets and curled on the floor of a boat. At the bow. Charon’s; can hear Charon’s low breathless hum. Can hear that comforting slosh of water, deep depths that comfort, that remind him of _home_ \--not Olympus, but a cave and water that runs so deep the only things that live there are slow with eyes that glow and teeth like the knives Hermes likes to hold.

Ma is gonna be disappointed, but she usually is with him.

But maybe she won’t be. She’s the one who said Charon’s good people, worth getting to know. A _good influence_ , Ma said. Hermes rather thinks he agrees. Even if that means he’s got to like Charon’s family too.

(It’s family that’s why Hermes likes Charon; funny how the dead love so freely. Like they know how much it costs. Maybe they do; Charon knows how much everything _else_ costs, down to the last obol.)

He should probably get going soon, but slipping his eyes open, watching Charon row, indigo soul slipping hazy around him, animating a vessel in some pretense of living, maybe not. It’s comfortable here, gold.

Hermes does like gold.

Charon went to all that trouble, gave Hermes something precious, all that trust. Gives him a place to put his head down, a million wagers Hermes mostly loses, an ear for all the words that rise up in Hermes’ chest like the tides.

Ma always did say it’s important to hang onto the gold when he found it, and no one’s got more gold Hermes has ever found than Charon; no one more willing to share it, either.

He closes his eyes, nests further in the blankets, and rides.


End file.
